Me: Hey. We never cuddle.
B: *confused* What? Do you… do you WANT to cuddle?
Me:Well… no, not really. It sounds kind of weird, actually. I don’t even like when you put your iPad on my side of the couch.
B: Exactly. Anyway, it’s too hot to cuddle. You’ve been watching too many girl movies.
While watching the Food Network, Giada is teaching us how EASY it to to make your very own homemade croutons.
B: *perfectly indignant* You NEVER make me homemade croutons anymore!!!
For whatever reason, the water in our kitchen is notoriously cloudly, with a rust (we hope) brown tinge to it. And by “tinge”, I mean it generally looks like chunky apple juice. We had a Brita pitcher for a while, but when we noticed mold growing in it, we abandoned the idea of drinking the kitchen water altogether.
In the bathroom, however, the water is perfectly… WATERY. Clear, clean, hopefully cancer-free. And so, this conversation frequently ensues:
*I stand up, B looks at me piteously*
B: Hey baby, how do you feel about getting me a glass of water?!
Me: Fine. Do you want kitchen water or bathroom water?
B: What!! That’s not even a question! Get me some of that delicious bathroom water, woman!!!
On Sunday, B went off to play soccer, and I wanted to surprise him when he got home with his favorite food in the world: Chili’s Chicken Crispers. I knew there was a chance the delivery would be a soggy disappointment, but I figured what the hell, give it a try.
I have no words to adequately describe the completely disintegrated mash of spongey potato, limp, squishy corn, and alleged “chicken” that was delivered to our door… but our reaction went a little something like this:
B: *poking at his gruel* Oh… oh my.
Me: It tastes like… like NURSING HOME.
B: Well… A for effort?
Me: Two words: never again.
B: *nods gravely* Just like the Holocaust.
B: *singing to Axe Murderer* Sleepy cat, on the ground, your face is so round, your face is gonna pound the Boy Cat!
Me: Hey, B?
B: I was in the middle of a song, you know!!
Me: I know, and it was beautiful, but-
B: OBVIOUSLY I know it was beautiful, because *I* was singing it. And I’m not an idiot.
This morning, I’m watching Golden Girls as B gets ready for work.
B: Golden Girls! AWFUL.
Me: What! It’s an American classic!!
B: Golden whores is more like it! Ha!!
While talking about a prospective new job…
B: Where are they located?
Me: Above the Hooter’s in Chinatown.
B: Nice. So if it doesn’t work out, you can just get a part time job!
During Rubicon, an Islamic terrorist writes a goodbye letter to an old girlfriend the night before he attacks.
Me: Awww, he wrote her a suicide note! That was sweet.
B: True. If I was gonna commit jihad, I’d totally write you a love letter.
Axe Murderer is curled up on B’s chest in bed, and I am getting the fleshy view of her profile.
B: Look at this pretty thing!
Me: She looks fat. She’s got like, eight chins.
B: Eight beautiful chins!!
As B gets out of the shower…
Me: Your AIDS looks worse.
B: Psshhh. YOUR AIDS looks worse!
Me: I don’t have any AIDS!
B: Oh, yeah. People have been talking about it!
In bed this morning…
Me: Love you.
B: Move overrrrrrrr.
B: NOW I love you back.
***SOA SPOILER ALERT!!!***
While watching Sons of Anarchy Tuesday night, we learn that Detective Stahl is throwing her girlfriend slash FBI agent partner under the bus by having a witness (falsely) identify her as the murderer in a case.
Me: What!! Stahl’s fingering her own girlfriend!
B: Literally AND figuratively. Heyooooooo!
Me: Good one! *high five*
In our hotel bed in Chicago, I notice that my two pillows are decidedly lumpy and lackluster.
Me: Oh, lame. We only get two sad sack pillows each? What kind of hotel is this??
B: *side eye*
Me: Do you… you have THREE pillows!! You jerk, you totally pillow-screwed me!
B: Whatever! There’s couch pillows over there for the taking.
Me: I’m not using COUCH PILLOWS. That would involve getting up, and they’re all scratchy anyway.
B: Well then, I guess that’s your pillow situation!!!!!
Murray is sitting all high and mighty on the bookcase, giving us a lovely view of his ass. Like this, but totally NOT on our laps. A-hole.
Me: Boy Cat, don’t even pretend like you won’t be sleeping right on our chests in, oh, five hours.
B: That’s right, you fucking turncloak!!!
At a faux Hooters in Chicago, B watches me reading Twitter on the berry.
B: Hey! Tweet this: “For all those about to rock, we salute you.”
Me: What? Why?
B: Because it’s AWESOME. You want to be cool, don’t you? Why would you not salute those about to rock???
On the couch, a moment ago. Please kindly note that our code for a numero dos is to “TCOB” (Take Care of Business).
B: *jumps up* Woooo! You’re gonna have to pause that- Imma have to TC some B here in a second!
Moments after I am stung by a bee walking around Chicago.
Me: My arm hurts!
B: Oh, from when you attacked the bee?
Me: What!! It STUNG me!
B: I mean, the bee’s not here to defend himself, so I’m afraid I can’t accept your account of the incident as valid.
At an airport bar…
Me: Man, it’s hot in here.
Me: If I’m warm, YOU must be dying.
B: Nope. I’m cold-blooded. Like a snake!
On our way to the hotel in Chicago…
B: Maybe they’ll have robes in the hotel!
Me: If you’re this excited about robes, maybe we should just buy some.
B: YES. Think about it! Then we’d be wearing even less pants at home than we already do!!!
Me: I mean, I can’t argue with that logic.